Shifting Shapes
by Redclia
Summary: NOW FINISHED(finally)! A sequel to The Dark King. The Company continues their journey to Mirkwood, only to run into a powerful shapeshifter that has been destroying villages.
1. Forngor's Journey

Disclaimer: I am not associated with J.R.R Tolkein or any of his works professionally.

Author's Note: This is a sequel/related story to "The Dark King."

From the North he came, wild, young and carefree.  In the beginning, he had been merely looking for somewhere to live, somewhere where he would not be asked questions about his past or bothered about his appearance.  

            Looking back on that day, when he crossed into Middle-earth, full of young hopes and foolish desires, he laughed at his dreams for an idealistic existence.  Nothing such as he would ever be able to live in peace.  He studied his face in the still bowl of water he had filled.  It was gray and expressionless, dull black eyes staring unblinkingly up at him.  His thin lips twisted in an expression of self-disgust and anger.  He slammed his fist into the bowl, shattering the image of himself, the water distorting his face.

            Forngor stood up, throwing the bowl away from him, and turned to the door of the now-deserted house he had ransacked.  Forngor was a rare species, a misfit among misfits, born with a remarkable ability.  He was a shape-shifter.  When Forngor had entered Middle-earth, he had searched out a village where he could stay.  His odd appearance was received with screams of horror and scornful looks of revulsion.  Forngor had run that first night, his fangs bared with anger.  He would return and those Men would pay for their taunts.  

            His shape-shifting allowed him to become anything of a species, but not an individual.  But what he had was enough.  He came into town as a hungry, lost traveler, seeking shelter for the night and a warm meal.  After making his way to the local inn, the Sign of the Drake, he became a Warg.  Howling savagely, he threw himself at the townspeople, tearing and ripping with his fangs and claws.  Forngor leaped to the doors as people tried to get out, barring them with his body.  He snarled, backing into the doors and slamming them shut.

"What do you want from us, monster?" a man shouted.  As soon as the words had left his mouth, the man fell to the ground, his eyes open and unseeing, blood leaking from his throat.  

"Nothing that you can give me." Forngor hissed, his words garbled and twisted.

Then he attacked.

That night, the village of Manrake was destroyed.  The one survivor spoke of a Warg in the inn and a troll demolishing the buildings and then of a Dwarf hacking fleeing townspeople with his axe.  As they ran, there was an Elf archer, picking off the fleeing people with uncanny accuracy.  After his story was told, the poor man fainted.  That night, an archer visited that village and in the morning, the man was found dead, an arrow in his throat.

Forngor traveled in such a way, going to villages in his normal form and seeing what sort of reception he was given.  If he was greeted with anger and taunts, he would return that night and the next morning, the smoke from the remains of the village would be seen rising above the treetops.


	2. The Sole Survivor

The Fellowship of eight was continuing its journey to the Elven land of Mirkwood ruled by Thranduil, Legolas' father.  Legolas and his companions had recently defeated the corrupted shadow-king Shadara and the Elf wished to return to his home to calm his mind of the terror he had experienced in Shadara's kingdom.

"Mirkwood grows closer.  I can almost smell the trees of home." Legolas sighed. "But I also smell smoke."

"You are right, my friend.  Something burns, and nearby.  Perhaps we are close to a camp of some sort." Aragorn the Ranger replied.

"Then let us hasten, and ask to stay there for the night." Sam, one of four Hobbits, urged the others.  Like most Hobbits, Sam was fond of a warm fire and comfortable bed.

Gandalf the wizard nodded his old head in agreement. "Very well."

Altering their course slightly to follow the scent of the smoke, the Company made their way to the source of the smoke.  Gandalf was leading them and as he burst through the forest's edge, he stopped cold.

"Gandalf, what is it?" Frodo asked.

"The village that used to be here.  It is gone." Gandalf said slowly.

"Gone?  But how is that possible?" Merry and Pippin peered around Gandalf's cloak. 

Gandalf moved into the open, letting the others file out beside him.  Before them they saw the remains of a village.  The buildings were ravaged, and most were charred frames that swayed in the slight breeze that blew.  Bodies lay scattered on the ground and in the rubble of the buildings.  The stench of death hung heavy in the air.

"What has happened here?" Aragorn asked. 

"That is obvious enough.  Something has completely destroyed this village." Gimli the dwarf replied. 

The Company moved into the village slowly, holding their hands over their noses to mask the smell of burned flesh and fresh blood.  But still the metallic sickly smell of blood and flesh reached them.

"We must burn the bodies, or bury them." Gandalf said, his voice muffled by his sleeve as he held it over his nose and mouth.

"Burn them.  We may have the energy to bury them, but I do not think any of us have the minds to do so." Legolas spoke truthfully, for no one in the Company wanted to have the task of burying the villagers.

Instead, they dragged or carried the bodies to the center of the village.  By the time the last person was placed on the pile, all of the Company felt emotionally and physically drained.

"I am sure now that I do not wish to become an undertaker." Merry panted as he and Pippin dragged a woman's body to the pile.

"This is no time for jokes, Merry.  We must find out who killed these people." Aragorn said as he passed the two Hobbits, carrying the bodies of two small children.

"Or what." Legolas added.  "There are the marks of a troll's club in the earth and large heavy footprints, but they stop.  And then there are axe wounds in some and tooth and claws wounds in others.  And those who are further away have arrows in their backs.  Elvin arrows."

"And the axe wounds come from a dwarf's axe." Gimli said as he added another body to the pile. "But never before has a dwarf traveled with an Elf, a Warg and a troll."

"I am afraid that these villagers are not alone in the mystery of their deaths.  Several villages have been destroyed along the Northern border, or so I have heard." Gandalf sighed heavily. 

"Gandalf!" Frodo called.  He was kneeling beside a young woman whose leg lay twisted awkwardly beneath her, obviously broken.  But the woman was alive.

The old wizard looked down at her with kindly eyes. "We will try to save you."

"No," the woman shook her head, "It is not possible.  He will return tonight to kill me, for he knows that I live."

"Who is he?" Frodo asked. 

"You are a Halfling!  I thought you to be a child." the woman laughed wearily. "Ah, he is a strange one.  A shifter of shapes, they call him.  He will return tonight.  And I will die."

"A shape-shifter?  How unusual.  They are rare, but not unheard of." Gandalf mused.

"We must get her away from here." Sam said, looking at the young woman.

"No!  You cannot allow me to endanger another village.  I must stay here." the woman said forcefully.

Frodo bowed his head. "She is right.  But we will stay here and guard her tonight.  Perhaps we will get a glimpse of this shape-shifter."

Gandalf swiftly lifted the woman, jarring her leg as little as possible.  They made their way back to the others, where Legolas was lighting the fire that would cremate the villagers.

The woman let out a quiet sob as she saw them.  She turned her face away from the bodies, tears streaking her ash-covered face.  Aragorn took her from Gandalf, allowing the wizard to lay a cloak on the ground near the forest for the woman to lie on.

"Tonight we will guard this woman." Gandalf told those who did not already know so.  They nodded.

"This woman may not decide the fate of this world or carry some key to lock up all that is evil here, but I will not see her die.  She must live to tell her story as the only living witness to this shape-shifter's evil." Gandalf continued, answering the unasked question of _why is she so important_.

As night fell and darkness crept in, the Company sat around a small fire, as they had for many nights on their journey.  Legolas shivered slightly, feeling a chill wind dance around them.

"Legolas?" Gimli asked.

"I am fine.  The wind, it reminds me of Shadara." the Elf replied. "But no matter, for she is gone."

Suddenly, Aragorn sat up straight, peering into the darkness.  He held up a hand for silence and motioned Legolas forward.

"What do you see?  I have a feeling that there is some creature out there, but I do not know what." the Ranger said.

Not far away, in the remains of the village, two bright eyes glittered. "There are eyes in the village.  They belong to a large creature, hulking, a Warg or werewolf I believe." Legolas replied.

"It is coming closer." Aragorn noted calmly, drawing his sword.  At the sound of steel scraping on scabbard, the others looked up.  The Hobbits and Gandalf drew their swords while Gimli reached for his axe.  Legolas fitted an arrow to his bowstring and aimed for the eyes.

"He has come!" the woman cried, terror filling her voice.   


	3. The Arrival of Forngor

The dark shape grew steadily closer, until it was well within range of Legolas' arrow.  Then it stopped, sniffing the air hungrily.  It grew in shape and size, becoming a huge troll.

"We have faced one of these before, and in closer quarters.  No doubt this one will be slightly easier to defeat." Aragorn called back to the others, who were still gathered around the fire, but were slowly moving up to Aragorn's side.  

"Merry, you and Pippin must guard the woman." Gandalf's eyes slid to the woman, who was propped up on her elbows.

The troll growled deep in his throat. "Who are you to protect this woman, Elf?"

Legolas' eyes narrowed, becoming ice. "Who are you to ravage villages?" he retorted.

            The troll blinked. "They are disgusted by difference.  They deserve to be killed."

            "Is that what you truly believe?" Aragorn asked, a fierce battle light kindling in his eyes.

            "It is the truth!" the troll roared. "They hate what they do not understand.  I help them to understand the gift I was cursed with, this remarkable power to take shapes and forms."

            The troll took a step forward, his heavy club thudding heavily in the earth.

            "Take another step, troll, and I will shoot your eyes out." Legolas threatened.

            "I am not a troll.  Nor am I whatever I appear to be.  I am Forngor, the northern horror." the troll replied. "I envy those with a life of freedom.  Elves who are free to walk the forests for eternity.  Dwarves who mine at the earth and are content with their palaces of stone and jewels.  Men who have homes to live in.  And even Hobbits with their happy lifestyles.  But for you eight, and this woman, you will not be able to finish those lives peacefully, for if you survive tonight, I will hunt you down and kill you."

            "I will have no witnesses live to say they have seen a shape-shifter." Forngor growled.  He raised his club, sending it crashing down between Aragorn and Legolas, successfully extinguishing the fire.  Legolas leaped to one side and fired the arrow.  It arched up, lodging in one of Forngor's eyes.  The shape-shifter howled in anger and turned on the Elf.  As he turned, Aragorn took a running jump and landed on the creature's back, plunging his sword deep into the troll's hide.

            A second later the Ranger was thrown from the troll's back as he shook wildly back and forth.  Forngor snarled, becoming a Warg.  He charged at Merry and Pippin, who stood their ground.

            They stabbed forward with their swords.  Merry's blade cut across the Warg's eyes, while Pippin's buried itself deep in one of the Warg's forepaws.  

            "Hmm, the Halflings are brave little creatures, but foolish." Forngor grumbled to himself.  He drew back, shedding his Warg form and becoming a troll once more.  He lumbered forward, sending the two Hobbits flying with one swing of his club.

            Before he could end the woman's life, Gandalf sent a sparking firework into the sky, the bright lights and crackling sound causing the troll to turn in surprise.

            "Go back to the land you came from, Forngor, and trouble Middle-earth no more." Gandalf shouted.

            "I cannot." Forngor replied shortly, before lashing out with his club again, catching Gandalf a glancing blow to the head that sent the wizard sprawling.

            The others circled warily around the troll, weapons ready.  At a subtle nod from Aragorn they attacked.  Gimli rushed forward, hacking at the troll's thick leg.  Frodo and Sam both went for the troll's feet, stabbing with their blades.  Legolas shot a hail of arrows at the troll's face.  Aragorn leaped onto the troll's back again, driving his sword through Forngor's back.

            Forngor bellowed in pain and rage. "You may face a troll and a Warg well, but what about a Balrog?"

            And he transformed into the creature, a creature who was made of lava.  He was smaller than a real Balrog, but still as frightening. Aragorn fell from the Balrog's back and the others pulled back, watching the Balrog's snapping whip arc through the air.

            Gandalf struggled to his feet, raising his hands and staff to the heavens.  He was shouting, words in a strange language, summoning a magic to defeat the shape-shifter.  But the Balrog snapped the whip forward, and it curled around the wizard's ankles.  Gandalf fell, hitting his head hard on the stones around the remains of the fire.

            "Gandalf!" Frodo shouted.  The wizard lay unconscious before the angry Balrog, but Forngor was not looking at the wizard.  He lashed out with the whip again, sending the Hobbits flying into the trees.  When they fell, they did not rise again.  

            "Four left, I see.  And none will accept defeat easily I think." Forngor turned.  Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stood around the woman.

            Gimli stood between the Man and the Elf, who both had their bows up with arrows notched to the strings.

            Forngor twitched the whip, sending it snapping almost lazily between the archers, flattening Gimli.

            "Two archers against a Balrog?  How odd.  Maybe I shall make this battle a little more even." Forngor said, as he shrank, becoming an Elven archer.

            "Shoot him now!" the woman screamed. 

            The shape-shifter's face sneered at her. "It is too late for them, or you."  He fired three arrows with blinding speed.  All found their marks.  But as they fell, Aragorn and Legolas fired their arrows, fatally wounding Forngor's Elf body.  Forngor limped into the woods, his curses filling the air.

            "You will pay for this, I promise you." the shape-shifter vowed, his tired body resuming its natural self.


	4. Waking Up

Author's Note: Sorry it took me a while to update this.  Winter Break ended and I had to go back to school and then I got sick and I couldn't think straight (Also, my brother didn't help…he can be extremely annoying).  Oh well…  

The next morning dawned bright and cold.  Gimli was the first one to get up, grumbling at the stiffness in his bones.  He looked around him to find the Company lying in various places around the dead fire. 

            "Gandalf, get up!  Morning has come and Forngor is gone." Gimli shook the wizard as gently as he could.

            Gandalf rose, and sat up, pulling his staff to him. "The others.  How are the others?"

            The Dwarf scurried to the trees and returned with the Hobbits following him dazedly. "Frodo and the other Hobbits all have headaches." Gimli reported.

            "It is like the morning after you have too much to drink." Pippin added.

            Aragorn and Legolas were waking up slowly as the others drew near to them.  "There is a pain in my shoulder that burns like fire." Aragorn groaned.

            "The shape-shifter shot them." Gimli said.

            "The woman, how is she?" Aragorn asked.

            They turned, and saw the arrow in the woman's throat.  Her skin was white and her eyes were wide open in a look of sudden pain.

            "She is dead." Frodo said softly.

            Legolas sighed as he struggled to sit up. "Why am I always shot by arrows?" he asked, wincing as the arrow in his collarbone shifted as he moved.

            "Hold still, Legolas." Gandalf said, gently pushing the Elf back down.  The wizard grabbed the arrow at its base and pulled it out.

            Aragorn had already removed the arrow in his shoulder.  Forngor had underestimated both the Elf and the Man, for as soon as the arrows had been fired, they had moved, causing the shape-shifter to miss slightly.

            When the blood from both wounds had been staunched, the Fellowship buried the woman.

            "Forngor will return no doubt.  He means to finish us all." Frodo warned.

            "Then we must go.  But where?" Merry asked.

            Legolas shook his head. "Not to Mirkwood, for I do not wish to lead such a creature there."

            "Then we shall wander aimlessly, until he tires." Gimli said decisively.

            "He will not tire.  We must leave, yes, but we must also defeat him before he defeats us." Gandalf replied.

            "And how do we do that?" Sam asked.

            "Forngor will not tire in his search for us, but he cannot remain in another form for too long.  If he changes forms too much, his natural body grows tired and weak." Aragorn said.

            "We have to keep him occupied long enough so that he is weak enough to capture." Gandalf added.

            "Hit and run, then." Gimli said shortly. "Sounds simple enough."

            "Of course it's not." Pippin muttered, half to himself, half to Merry.

             Gandalf heard the Hobbit's remark and turned to him, a soft smile on his aged face. "You're quite right, Pippin.  It will be a hard task, but not impossible.  We will best this shape-shifter and send him back to the far North."  

             "Then let us begin this game.  For a game it is to me, a game of hide-and-seek and cat-and-mouse.  And no Took ever shied away from a game, no sir!" Pippin proclaimed, before exploding with laughter at his bravado and then stopping abruptly as a pain shot through his head. "Oww, my head still hurts!"

            At that sudden end to Pippin's merriment, the rest of the Company laughed.  It was Legolas who brought them back to the shape-shifter.

            "Then we should do what brave Master Took has suggested and begin this game of steel and wood."

            "Yes, let us begin this game that will lead to our deaths." a mocking voice echoed.  Forngor stood in a tree as himself, a plain gray Man-like creature with dead eyes.

            "Do not worry, for whatever failure of a plan you have concocted was unheard.  Alas, for Forngor did not arrive in time to hear it.  But no plan or plot will do you any good, for all who flee from Forngor will fall." the shape-shifter called down to them.  Before anyone could fire an arrow or even respond, Forngor became an eagle and flapped in the sky, huge wings beating slowly, almost painfully, it seemed.

            "What did he not transform and kill us now?" Merry wondered.

            "He is still weak.  See the strain it takes for him to fly?  Forngor speaks loudly, but his words are hollow for now." Aragorn pointed out the eagle's slow ascent.

            "Then pray that we can keep him this weak." Frodo added, a hand going to the handle of his sword.    


	5. Battle In The Skies

Aragorn had spoken the truth; Forngor was weak, but not so weak that he could not fly.  He reached the thermals of air in the higher regions of the sky and soared along them for a while, resting his mind and tired body.

            "Ah, they move." Forngor's sharp eyes picked out the Company as they began to move hurriedly – purposely, Forngor thought – into the forest, away from the smoldering remains of the village and the road.

            He followed them, high above them, watching the eight move along the nearly-invisible trails in the forest until they were hidden by the trees.

            "Eagle-brother, I did not expect to see anyone else here today." a surprised voice called.  

            Forngor looked up to see a real eagle gliding along the air currents with him.

            "I am not an eagle-brother of yours." he hissed.

            "Do not speak in such a tone." the eagle scolded. 

            "Leave me in peace, bothersome bird!" Forngor snapped.  For an instant, he almost lost his patience and control completely and his feathers flickered briefly into gray skin.

            The eagle let out a screech of surprise as Forngor turned on him, streaking towards him madly.

            Far below, the cry of the eagle reached the ears of the Company.  They looked up to see the bird dodge Forngor's attack and turn tail to flee.  Forngor was after the eagle in an instant, and then, with a sudden burst of speed, upon him, stabbing deep into the eagle's neck with his talons.

            The eagle gave a gurgling squawk as Forngor ended its life.  Its eyes dimmed and blood ran down its neck, sliding along the dark feathers.  The madness of Forngor ended, and he let the eagle fall, watching the body spin towards the treetops.  A sudden weariness struck him then and he flapped away, discontinuing his search until he knew he was rested.

            The eagle's body thumped through the branches, falling with a thud in front of a shocked Sam.

            "My dear Mister Frodo!  Look at that!" he exclaimed.

            "Yes, an eagle whose fall will let us sleep safely tonight." Frodo replied as the others stopped and turned to them.

            "Then do not let such a gift lie there.  We should bury it." Gimli said and he picked up the bird gently, struck a hole into the ground with his axe and buried the eagle then and there.

            "Now that the eagle is resting, we should do the same.  Forngor is too weak to return tonight after that skirmish, and we should take advantage of his drained state." Gandalf said.

            He led the way deeper into the forest where the eyes of a tired eagle in a nearby tree would not be able to see them.

            The night, for once, uneventfully, passing into a day that was warm and peaceful.  Legolas, the last on watch for the night, woke the others. "The sun has come.  Wake and rise, the day will not wait for you."

            "And neither will Forngor." Frodo replied as he sat up.

            Sam flopped back with a sigh. "I was hoping that he was but a nightmare."

            "Well he's not.  So get up, Sam, and let's get this over with." Merry nudged Sam with his foot.

             Sam got up after another minute of groaning and joined the others, who were getting ready to leave.  Aragorn leaned down to the Hobbit's level, as if he were merely checking something on the ground.

            "You know what you are supposed to do, Sam?" the Ranger asked.

            "Yes." Sam nodded. "Though I wish I weren't doing this at all."

            "Don't we all." Pippin added.

            The night before, Legolas, Aragorn and Gandalf –those who had traveled the path before – had told the others about the various paths of the forest.  Where they would lead, where they crossed, where they ended.  They had come up with a plan to stop Forngor.  Gandalf seemed to have great confidence in the success of the plan and his assuredness gave the others the same confidence.

            Now they split up, following different paths – seemingly random paths – through the forest.  Gandalf and Aragorn took one path that looked as if it led north-west.  The Hobbits and Gimli took a path that curved east and Legolas set off straight north.  There was one point where all three paths met, but they appeared to go in separate directions.  At that point, that meeting of the paths, Forngor would find his defeat and the terror of a shape-shifter would exist no more in Middle-earth.


	6. Failure

The shape-shifter himself was rested, and was tracking the eight as a wolf.  He found where the Company had spent the night and sniffed the ground, learning more about his opponents as he did.

            "The wizard is a great one, one who has been through fire and smoke and has survived." Forngor noted to himself. "And the Man has a smell about him that speaks of old battles won and nobility.  Hmm… the dark-haired Hobbit has carried great fear and power with him, dark power.  There is a gardener among the Hobbits who smells of dirt.  And the other two have a love of the Hobbit-weed.  The Dwarf is of stone and dust, and the Elf is of trees and forests.  Very interesting." Forngor murmured to himself, pausing in his sniffing.  His ears picked up what he imagined to be the cheery voices of Hobbits and he whirled from the camp and sped into the forest.

            The Hobbits were indeed chattering, but very loudly as to appear closer to the shape-shifter.  Forngor was off the paths, his wolf feet creating only a little sound on the earth.  Soon he reached one of the paths, the one that Legolas had taken.      

            Forngor stalked cautiously onto the path.  He knew that the Company had passed by, for he caught their scent in the air around him.  His nose told him that they had been here, and his mind told him to wait.  Forngor resumed his natural form as he settled back into the foliage, conserving his strength.  He failed to notice the slight figure that perched in the branches of one of the trees, the greens and grays of his garb blending in well.  And his dull eyes didn't notice as the figure notched an arrow to a longbow.

            The Elf stood precariously in the tree, aiming for the dead glint of the shape-shifter's eyes.  As silent as Elves can be, he waited, his breathing inaudible below the rustle of leaves and birdsong.  

            A clear whistle rang out, a good imitation of a bird, but no sound a bird would make.  Before the echo of the whistle faded, an arrow hissed through the air.  Forngor, somehow sensing the danger, jerked to the side and the arrow missed his head, disappearing into the brush.

            Up in the tree, Legolas the Elf cursed silently and readied another arrow.  Forngor slunk into the open, peering up at him.  His thin gray mouth broke into a mocking smile as he saw the Elf.  

            "Aiming to kill, now aren't we?" Forngor remarked. "That was meant to end it all, wasn't it, Elf?  One shot, right between the eyes and poor Forngor would be no more."

            Legolas made no reply, only drew his bow and aimed at Forngor.  He fired again, but the shape-shifter dodged and the arrow grazed his shoulder.  Forngor looked at the dark blood that dripped from his shoulder and glared up at the Elf-prince.

            "Will you not come down instead of shooting arrows at me from a distance?  What true warrior stands in safety while attacking a helpless enemy?"

            When Legolas made no move to honor Forngor's request, the shape-shifter snarled and became a troll, shaking the tree that the Elf stood in.  Legolas leaped from the tree, drawing his knives and stabbing them into the troll's head as he passed.  Still gripping the handles of his weapons, he used them to swing onto the troll's neck.  Forngor grumbled deep in his throat and threw himself backwards, slamming Legolas into a tree and causing the Elf's knives to lose their hold in his thick skin.  The Elf dropped to the ground at the foot of the tree and lay there stunned.

            Forngor blinked at him as Legolas got to his feet, fired an arrow that hit the troll's face, and turned and ran into the forest.

            "Run, will you?  I can match your speed, for there are those who are quicker than Elves in the forest." Forngor boasted.  He shrank into a wolf again and gave chase.

            Forngor did not get very far, however.  An axe-blade fell right in front of his nose, stopping him cold.  He looked up to see Gimli in front of him.

            "Good day, Master Forngor.  How fares the hunting?" the Dwarf asked.

            Forngor growled and turned, only to face the point of Aragorn's sword.  The Ranger had come up behind him so quietly that even a wolf's ears couldn't hear.

            "I believe he asked you a question, Forngor.  It would be rude to deny him an answer." Aragorn said.

            "You idiots!  You think a Man and a Dwarf will do any more than an Elf?" Forngor said.

            A clear voice that did not belong to the Dwarf or the Man answered him. "Yes, when the Man is a king and the Dwarf has killed forty-two Orcs in battle.  But they stand not alone.  The Elf is back."

            Forngor turned again to see Legolas, standing a little ways behind Gimli. "So you thought to trap me, do you not?  Drawing me out, making me change shapes rapidly to tire me.  Ah yes, I see that this is what you were trying to do.  Your plan would have worked, but Forngor is wise in the ways of planning.  Good day, sirs."  With that, Forngor became a small bird and fluttered into the sky, leaving behind a few words: "Tonight you will live, for Forngor has another village to destroy.  A very large village.  I believe the Elf knows of it more than the others.  It is called Mirkwood."  


	7. Death Is A Leopard

Author's Note: I don't know if leopards exist in Middle-earth and if not, now they do.

And then he was gone, a target too small and agile for either of the archers' arrows.  Legolas sighed and let the tip of his bow rest on the ground.  The Hobbits and Gandalf came down the third path.

            "We heard what he said.  He's right about the plan.  More time was needed for a better one, and we decided to rush it." Gandalf said. "Now he heads for Mirkwood?"

            "The Elves there will be more than a match for him.  He is over-confident." Legolas replied. "But we should warn them all the same."

            "And so we shall." Gandalf agreed as he led the way to Mirkwood.

            Forngor muttered to himself as he stalked through the woodlands.  The Fellowship had concocted a foul plan.  He would return the favor, by slowing destroying Mirkwood.  Perhaps it was a foolish idea, he conceded.  A decision made in the heat of anger is never a wise one, but anger would aid him here.  They would surely come to the Elves' aid and he would be there.  He stole quietly through the forest, nearing the home of the Elves.  Just out of sight of the Elvish kingdom and still outside of the outskirts, Forngor paused and listened.  He could hear the Elves' clear voices raised in song, celebrating the coming of the Spring.  With a soft snarl he sprang forward, in a leopard's form and disappeared into the foliage.  A minute later, an angry shout broke in the air and there was a flurry of leaves and branches.  

            Forngor stood over the Elf, his emerald eyes glazed with a maniac look and carefully licked the blood from his fangs.  At the soft sound of Elves approaching, he turned tail and fled, watching from the bushes.

            A tall Elf came down the path on horseback, followed by another.  Bells rang softly on the first horse's halter as its rider reined it in.  The riders dismounted and knelt at the body of the Elf on the path.  The Elf had claw marks on his shoulders and blood leaking from his torn throat, and he was dying.

            "What happened to you?" the first Elf asked, his voice hushed.

            The dying Elf's eyes looked up, focusing briefly on the rider's face. "Lord, it was a leopard.  A leopard that spoke."

            "It was no leopard.  He was a shape-shifter." the Elf said softly.  The dying Elf gasped in a harsh breath and lay still.  The tall Elf gently lifted the body and turned back down the path.  

            From his hiding place, Forngor knew that the tall Elf was a powerful one, just by his stance and the fluid way he moved.  He carried himself like a Lord, and had the look of one, old and young at the same time.  The Elf's robes were white, plain white, but they seemed to gleam with a hidden light that came from the Elf himself.  The other Elf was not a Lord, perhaps an old friend of the other.  Forngor glared for another second, until he was sure the Elves could feel his hatred.  Then he became a songbird again and fluttered into the sky.

            "Hold his reins, if you will.  We will walk back." the Lord said, as his white stallion tossed his head, jangling the bells on his halter.  He turned away from his companion and led the way back to the king's palace in Mirkwood, holding the dead Elf in his arms.

Author's Note: The Lord is not an original character.  Take a guess at who he is.     


	8. Mirkwood

The Company was about to pass into the kingdom of Mirkwood when Gimli suddenly stopped.

            "I will not go a step further." he said, planting his feet into the ground.  

            "Gimli, now is not the time for grudges against the Elves." Legolas replied.

            "My father was imprisoned here.  I will not go further." the dwarf insisted, his eyes flashing.

            "It would be unwise to try and force a dwarf to enter Mirkwood.  He would be most unwelcome here." a cultured voice spoke softly.

            The Company turned around to see an Elf-lord behind them, holding the body of an Elf in his arms.  The Lord's blond hair shone lightly in the sunlight and his white robes were unstained by the blood of the dead Elf in his arms.  His clear eyes glanced at each of the Company in turn.  With him was another Elf, who was holding the reins of two horses.

            "Come home again, Legolas?"

            "For a while." Legolas answered. "We have another reason for coming."

            The Elf-lord's eyes dropped to the body he held. "It is about a shape-shifter.  A shape-shifter that seeks to destroy Mirkwood."

            Legolas nodded, glancing at the body. "Yes.  And he has already begun."

            The Elf-lord smiled wanly. "He will lose this battle."  Then he shook his head slightly, and a warmth seemed to spread over them, chasing away the anticipation of Forngor's attack.

            "But enough of talk of fighting to come.  Welcome to Mirkwood."

            Legolas replied in kind, and the others pushed thoughts of Forngor from their minds. "Glorfindel, we should inform my father."

            Glorfindel nodded.  "Come, all of you.  Yes, even you Gimli." he added.  As they passed him, he greeted each in turn, pausing when Frodo walked by.

            "Frodo Baggins, it has been a while since Asfloth bore you across the Ford."

            "And I thank you still for your timely arrival." Frodo returned.

            The other Elf came forward, and a look of recognition came into Frodo's face.

            "Haldir!  But why are you so far from Lothlorien?" 

            "The Lord and Lady have granted me leave to travel with Lord Glorfindel, as a friend and not as a guard." Haldir, a soldier of Lothlorien, replied.

            "Why, hello, Sir Haldir." Sam said as he saw the Elf.

            "Still trying to breathe quietly, Master Gamgee?" Haldir said, with a faint smile.

            "Come now, Haldir.  We should not keep our guests waiting." Glorfindel called to him.

            "Our guests?" Legolas laughed. "It is I who should be saying that."

            Haldir beckoned for Frodo and the others to go in front of him.  The white stallion nickered impatiently for the Hobbits to pass, and Frodo laughed.

            "Asfaloth, be patient.  You do not need to save me again."  The stallion tossed his head in reply, making the silver bells on his halter ring.  Haldir shook his reins gently, chiding the horse.

            "Asfaloth, calm yourself."

            "I thought we were going to the king." Pippin said.

            "Trust a Hobbit to put us back on track." Gandalf said kindly. "Lead the way, Glorfindel."

            Mirkwood was different from the open air of Rivendell and the mystery of Lothlorien.  It had both qualities, but Mirkwood was darker, more troubled.  In the past years, it had been plagued by evil forces, but the king and his armies had finally defeated them.  

            "The Prince of Mirkwood has returned!" an Elf-woman said as they passed her home under the trees.  Then she saw the dead Elf and let out a soft cry of sorrow. "Ai, it is my son whose body you bear, Lord."

            Glorfindel looked at her with compassionate eyes. "If you wish it, lady, I will leave the body with you."

            She nodded. "I do.  His siblings and father will be saddened to see this, but he would like to rest at home."

            Glorfindel gently laid the body down.  Then he removed his white robe and covered the Elf with it.  Glorfindel was dressed for riding, and the robe was merely to give a sense of his power, but without it, anyone could tell that he was an Elf-lord.

            "Glorfindel, we must continue." Haldir urged him quietly.

            The Lord nodded and continued the walk through Mirkwood.  Soon they had reached the Even-king's palace.  A worried-looking Elf greeted them.

            "Prince Legolas, you must come quickly.  Your father has been attacked."   


	9. Gift of the Cobra

"Attacked?  By what?" Legolas replied.

            The Elf shook his head. "I will answer your questions, but please, follow me."  He gave the others an appraising look. "You may follow if you wish."

            Gimli stayed where he was. "I'll wait."

            The Elf looked at him. "That is just as well.  King Thranduil does not like dwarves very much.  For a dwarf to see him as he is now would be an insult." 

            The Elf and dwarf glared at each other in silence for another minute before Legolas pushed impatiently past the Elf and strode into the palace.  Glorfindel, Haldir, Gandalf, Aragorn and Frodo followed.  

            "I will not wait while you engage in a staring contest when my father has been attacked." Legolas said. 

            Glorfindel led the way to the king's bed, pausing at the doorway to let the others enter before him.

            "Greetings all.  I wish that I were able enough to greet you on my feet, but I am not." the king raised his hand.  He was pale, as though he had not seen sunlight for many days and when he raised his hand, they saw two angry red marks on his wrist.

            "What happened, father?" Legolas asked.

            King Thranduil looked at him. "You would know that better than I, Legolas."  He glanced at the others. "All of you would know better than I."

            "A shapeshifter." Frodo volunteered.  Thranduil's sharp eyes turned to him. "Ah, Frodo Baggins.  It has been a while since we had a Baggins in our halls."

            Glorfindel gently lifted the Elf's arm from the bed and looked at the marks on his wrist. "A cobra, is it not, Mithrandir?"

            Gandalf nodded. "He did not mean to kill.  If he had, the whole population of Mirkwood would be hunting him now, with scouts off to warn the whole of Middle-earth."

            "You have met him then, Mithrandir?" Thranduil asked.

            "He calls himself Forngor and vows that there will be no witnesses to say they have seen a shapeshifter." the wizard replied.

            "Forngor.  Clever name, a shapeshifter that knows Elvish." Thranduil commented off-handedly. 

            "Sir, he will return." Glorfindel pointed, exchanging a worried glance with Legolas.  Thranduil seemed to be wandering in his thoughts.

            "Yes, of course he will." Thranduil said lazily.  He swayed in his half-upright position in the bed. "Don't worry, he will come back.  King Elessar, it is nice to see you here at last."  He seemed to notice Aragorn for the first time.

            Legolas grabbed his father by the shoulders. "Father – "

            Thranduil struggled in his son's grip. "Let me go, you brute."

            "Father, calm down." Legolas said helplessly as Thranduil continued to try and fight him.

            Glorfindel stepped up beside Legolas and gently pushed Thranduil down onto the bed. "Sire, you should sleep now.  The serpent's poison is affecting you."

            Thranduil fought weakly. "What serpent?  Father, what serpent?"

            Legolas turned away, unable to watch his father's hallucinations. "He thinks Glorfindel is his father and I am his enemy." he said bitterly as he met Aragorn's concerned glance.

            "The poison will be dulled soon.  No cobra will keep King Thranduil from ruling his kingdom." Glorfindel said as Thranduil sighed contentedly in his sleep, sounding almost as a child would.

            "But Forngor will be returning." Frodo pointed out. "What are we going to do about him?"   


	10. A New Plan

Author's Note: I have no idea how to end this.  I just know I don't want a "quickie" ending (ex.  Forngor, in the form of a songbird, landed on a tree branch.  Legolas picked up his bow and shot him through the neck with an arrow.  Example 2: Glorfindel began to glow as the powers within him were awoken and Forngor, caught in the glow, disintegrated).  So that is why one of them can't just go out and kill Forngor.  

"He will be destroyed." Haldir said shortly.

            "As he should." Gandalf replied sadly. "I had hoped that he was only a disillusioned, tortured creature, but the malice he shows is incurable."

            There was a knock on the closed door, accompanied by an Elf's voice. "There are three Hobbits and a dwarf who wish to be admitted to this room."

            "Let them in." Glorfindel replied.  The door opened and Sam, Merry and Pippin walked in, followed by a grumbling Gimli.

            "So, where is this Elf-king father of yours, Legolas?"

            "Asleep.  Let him be, Gimli." Legolas replied, a little sharper than he intended.

"What happened to him?" Pippin asked inquisitively, peering at the sleeping Thranduil.  

            When Legolas did not reply, Haldir answered. "A cobra bite has given King Thranduil hallucinations."

            Gimli almost burst out laughing, but a glare from Legolas and a warning look from Gandalf silenced him.  Instead, the dwarf chuckled, "A loopy Elf-king!"  

            Shaking his head to shrug off Gimli's light-hearted take of the king's wound, Glorfindel turned back to the original problem. "Haldir and Mithrandir are both right.  Forngor must be killed.  The Elves of Mirkwood will be able to destroy him easily."

            "Perhaps," Aragorn conceded, "but many lives could be lost in doing so."

            "Lives are the price paid for warfare." Glorfindel countered, almost sadly.

            Aragorn began pacing. "But what if war could be waged and won against Forngor without losing anyone, save for Forngor himself?"

            "You have another plan?" Gandalf said. "I hope it is better than mine."

            Aragorn allowed himself a half-smile. "It is."

            Aragorn's plan was a variation of Gandalf's, involving drawing Forngor away from the Elves' home.  Instead of luring him into a trap of Elves, they would lure him further into Mirkwood, into the shadows of the forest.  

            Glorfindel approved the idea, but told Aragorn that should Forngor return to Mirkwood, he would be slain.  Aragorn agreed, knowing all too well how dangerous the shape-shifter could be.

            Glorfindel also agreed that he would be the last to bait Forngor, being able to stand alone against the shadows.  The others in the room volunteered to be along the trail that would lead to Glorfindel.  

            "So, when do we get underway?" Gimli asked.

            "Tomorrow morning, when the shadows have crept back to the edges of the woods." Gandalf answered.

            "And you actually think Forngor will be willing to follow this trail when he did not the first time?" Frodo asked uncertainly.

            "Yes.  He will most likely treat it as a game, and over-confidently follow all of us." the wizard replied.

            "If you say so." Sam shrugged doubtfully.

            "I do say so." came the reply.                   


	11. Start of the Game

The next morning, Legolas stood in the sunlight beneath the trees and strung his bow.  As he pulled an arrow from his quiver, Glorfindel led Asfaloth from the stable.

            "Ready, Elf?" Gimli asked. "Make sure not to hit anyone with that arrow."

            Ignoring the dwarf, Legolas notched the arrow to the bow, pointed it skyward and fired it.  As soon as the arrow left the bow with a twang, Glorfindel leaped astride Asfaloth and streaked into the forest.

            When the white stallion had disappeared, Frodo and the other Hobbits, Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli started off down the path he had taken, leaving Haldir alone.  A minute after they had been lost in the foliage, Forngor streaked down from the treetops in the form of a little bird, cackling.

            "You are no archer." he said shortly, fluttering to a branch and peering at the Elf with beady eyes.

            "I am not." Haldir agreed. "At least not the one that shot that arrow."

            "At least we agree." Forngor replied. "That arrow was shot by one they call Legolas, a Mirkwood Elf, if my eyes do not deceive me."

            "They do not." Haldir agreed again, his voice level and almost-cordial.

            Forngor clacked his beak insolently. "And who might you be, sir Elf?  Not a Mirkwood Elf, that is for sure."

            Haldir's voice became colder. "I am a soldier of the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien."

            "Do not tell me the Wood-Elves are too afraid to defend their own home."

            "They have been fighting the Dark for longer than you have been living.  A trivial attack from one such as you would present little problem."

            "Then why do you come before me?" Forngor cheeped.

            "A challenge."

            Forngor chortled in his bird form, sounding like a lion imitating a bird's song. "A single Elf challenges me.  Did Legolas not tell you of his battle with me?  He fell from a troll as a fruit from a tree."

            "Then you are more than a match for me." Haldir said, sarcasm in his voice.  The shape-shifter seemed not to notice the sarcasm and laughed.

            "Of course.  But if you wish, we shall see what your skills are."

            Haldir looked into the forest. "I hear that you can be faster than an Elf in the forest.  Prove to me that you can."

            Forngor hopped to the ground and became a wolf. "Easily.  When I pass you, the true battle will begin."

            Haldir agreed, then ran down the forest path.  Both the Elf and the shape-shifter were almost silent runners, but the Elf had the lead.  With the nimbleness and light-footedness of his people, he easily held the shape-shifter's wolf at bay.  The wolf was stockier, but able to leap over fallen trees and vines or whatever lay in its path.  Suddenly, the wolf stumbled in a flurry of leaves.  An unseen axe-handle had thrust up from the undergrowth to strike the wolf across the foreleg and upset his balance.

            When Forngor stood up, Haldir was nowhere to be seen.  The wolf sniffed the air, searching for the Elf, but his nose brought him an unexpected scent.

            "A Dwarf?" Forngor asked softly. "But where?"

            An axe-blade thudded to the ground before his nose.  Forngor looked up to see Gimli standing in front of him, looking out of place in the woods.

            "Hello again, Forngor."

            Like before, Forngor snarled at the dwarf.  He made as if to lunge at Gimli, but backed off bristling as the dwarf lifted his axe threateningly.

            "Leave me be," Forngor growled. "I am in contest with an Elf."

            "No longer," Gimli replied. "Your contest is with me now."

            Before Forngor could reply, he sliced forward with his axe and opened a cut on the wolf's side as Forngor tried to twist away.  Wounded, the shape-shifter became a songbird again and started to fly up, out of the range of Gimli's axe, but the hard end of a wooden staff sent him spinning.


	12. On The Run

Gandalf stood hidden at the path's edge, his staff now held in front of him. "Flee from here, Forngor, and flee quickly," the wizard said sternly.

            When Forngor hesitated, Gandalf lashed out again, a movement surprisingly quick for one of his apparent age.  His staff caught the unlucky shape-shifter a hard blow and sent him flying down the path, further into the trees of Mirkwood.

            "I think that will be last we see of you," Gandalf directed this comment at the small whirling shape that was Forngor, but the final insult was Gimli's laughter following him as he spiraled down the path.

             When the world reoriented itself in front of Forngor's dazed eyes, he immediately shed his bird form for something less aerodynamic.  His choice was a bear.  Now, instead of leaping lightly over obstacles, or flying over them, he simply plowed through them, taking no notice of the four small forms that darted in his wake.

            What finally got his attention was a prick of a blade in his hind leg.  He stopped abruptly, and without turning, said, "What little mosquito bites at me now?"

            Forngor slowly turned around to see the four Hobbits standing before him, blades drawn. "Keep going into the forest, Forngor," Frodo warned, feeling the malice radiating from the bear. "You follow a northward path that will take you to your homeland."

            "I do not wish to return there," Forngor spat.

            "Then you will die in Middle-earth," Merry replied.

            They approached Forngor slowly, their blades unwavering.  Forngor considered transforming into a Balrog or some hideous demon, but already he was tired from the race through the woods, the injury of the axe, and the transformations from wolf to bird to bear.  Instead, he turned tail and ran, lumbering through the woods.  But the Hobbits pursued him, stabbing at his legs and back with their blades, sharp stinging blows that penetrated the bear's thick fur and hide.  Plagued by their relentless poking, the shape-shifter let out a rumble of dismay and became a fleet-footed stag.

            Bolting through the woods, he was helped on his way by a well-aimed arrow that pierced his tail.  Aragorn ran after him, traveling as lightly as any deer.  When Forngor hesitated or faltered, an arrow would whistle through the air to nick an ear or his tail, or bite at his flanks and hooves.  Driven by this unseen predator, Forngor ran on, his eyes rolling in their sockets and foam gathering at the corners of his mouth.  He barely noticed when Aragorn stopped firing arrows and merely followed him for a while before drawing his sword and planting himself in the path in case the shape-shifter decided to turn around.

            He did notice, however, the lithe form that dropped from the tree branches in front of him.  Forngor stopped immediately and stood there, sides heaving and sweat-slicked, but braced for an attack.

            Instead, Legolas withdrew to the side of the path. "Pray, continue on, Forngor."

            The deer bleated angrily, unable to form any words for the moment.  A minute passed in silence as Legolas slowly strung and bent his bow and fingered an arrow and his adversary commanded his heart to slow down.

            When Legolas began to speak, it was in a soft voice barely heard above the rustling leaves. "Why did you attack Mirkwood, when you knew it to be folly to do so?"

            "You would not understand," the deer replied.  

            Legolas made no vocal reply, only stepped forward into the path and raised his bow.  Forngor lurched forward a step, as if in protest, and the Elf loosed the arrow.  It struck the deer in the chest; the force of it sent the creature stumbling back.  Forngor coughed weakly, a strange sound from a stag, and swayed on his hooves.  He lowered his head and Legolas saw blood drip from the deer's mouth.  Forngor was dying.  The flight through the forest had completely exhausted him.

            The stag raised his antlered head slightly.  His eyes were glazed and glassy, large pools of cloudy gray.  He stumbled forward, pulling his strength together for a charge at the Elf.  Instead of stopping the shape-shifter's charge, Legolas grabbed the stag by the antlers and used the animal's momentum to swing him further down the path.

            "Farewell, Forngor," he called as the deer staggered down the path, trying to regain his sense of direction.


	13. A Final Choice

Author's Note: I realized that the Wood-Elves live a long way from the Northern border of Mirkwood/Middle-earth, but I had already written this, so you can pretend that they took a day or two to do this or that Mirkwood got a lot smaller, or – as I did – you can ignore the actual geographic features of the land. ^_^  

Forngor ignored the Elf, and the darkening shadows around him as he went deeper into the forest.  Instead, he changed forms again, becoming a slow but strong ox.  He managed to keep his new form for a few seconds before his legs crumpled beneath him and he lost consciousness.  

            A minute later, Forngor awoke to find himself in his normal body, tired and hurting.  He stared at his thin gray fingers as they trembled in the dirt and blinked blearily.  A sinking feeling of confusion and a realization that the strength he had lost would not be regained for a long time filled him and he dragged himself onto his feet and continued slowly down the path.  The shape-shifter watched as the shadows grew longer from the forest, slinking over the path to crawl over his feet.  The night shadows pooled in his shallow footprints, and darkened his skin to a charcoal gray.  Forngor noticed these changes and felt nothing but resignation.  If he was to die in the dark, then he would.  He found no use in lamenting his fate, as many he had killed had.  The Men had cried and begged for life, but Forngor knew not to fight the inevitable.

            So preoccupied was he with his own thoughts that Forngor hadn't noticed the gleaming white before him until it banished the shadows on his skin.  Looking up, he saw Glorfindel and Asfaloth.  The Elf was gleaming with an inner light that reflected off of his stallion's white coat and caused them both to appear to glow.  In his hand, Glorfindel held his sword, the point facing the sky.

            "The choice is yours, Forngor.  You may return to your land, and I will escort you through the deep forest to the border, or you may remain here to await whatever fate is yours." Glorfindel broke the foreboding silence.

            Forngor licked his dry lips and blinked up at the light. "What choice is that?  I will die either way.  Lord Elf, you know this as well as I.  These wounds will not heal and my energy will not return in time to fight off whatever threats dwell here or on the path past the border."

            "If you choose the border road, I will leave with you a small drink that will revitalize you enough to escape from what may attack you."

            Forngor grinned suddenly, white fangs flashing. "How kind of you," he said, his voice reeking with sarcasm.

            Glorfindel glared at him from Asfaloth's back. "If you refuse this gift, I can leave you here in the shadows."

            The shape-shifter sighed. "I will follow the northward path."

            "I will follow you to the border," Glorfindel replied.

            The shape-shifter scooted nervously past Asfaloth, who stamped his hooves as Forngor passed him.  The stallion followed a few feet behind the shape-shifter and the glow from his rider lit the path before them.  

            They were almost to the border when night fell, draping the forest with black.  Shadows crept towards them, only to recoil as they hit the light.  Forngor was a dark gray shape in front of Glorfindel as the shape-shifter plodded on.  Suddenly, the shape-shifter turned at leaped at the Elf-lord, managing to transform into a wildcat.  Asfaloth reared as the wildcat slashed at his face and missed.  Forngor leaped again, this time over the horse's shoulder, his hind claws digging shallow cuts on the stallion's shoulder.  Forngor's attack was cut short as Glorfindel's sword caught him in the ribs.  A maniac look still in his sharp golden eyes, the wildcat fell to the ground, hissing.  He tried to gather himself for another attack, but the blade had cut deep and Forngor collapsed in a heap of golden fur at Asfaloth's hooves, his bright eyes dimmed in death.

            Asfaloth backed away from the shape-shifter's body as the wildcat melted into Forngor's natural form, now a lump of gray in the black shadows.  Whinnying to the shadows, Asfaloth turned from Forngor's body.  A word from Glorfindel sent him galloping back down the path, towards the lighter part of Mirkwood.

Author's Endnote: The End Is Near!!!


	14. The End Is Here

Thus was Forngor the shape-shifter vanquished.  Glorfindel returned to the king's palace in Mirkwood to find the others waiting for him outside.  King Thranduil was among them, listening with a faintly amused smile on his lips to Merry and Pippin tell of the downfall of the shape-shifter.

            As Glorfindel and Asfaloth rode up, they all turned to him expectantly.

            "Forngor will trouble Middle-earth no more," Glorfindel offered in response.

            "Is he dead then, Glorfindel?" asked Legolas.

            Glorfindel nodded. "He is lying in the shadows in the depths of Northern Mirkwood." 

            "He received what he deserved." Thranduil said, stepping forward.  He was no longer pale and the marks on his wrist had faded to a light pink.  Instead of a sickly child, he now looked and acted like an Elven-king.  His robes were dark green and gray and a circlet of gold wound its way around his head, glimmering softly in the glow of several lanterns balanced on poles.  

            They stood in silence as Glorfindel led Asfaloth to the stables, and when he returned, Haldir beckoned for them to follow him inside.  As they left, several Elves seemed to appear out of the trees to take the lanterns and carry them inside as well.

            "Now that you have rid Mirkwood of its latest scourge, Mithrandir, will you and your companions stay a while as my guests?" Thranduil invited.

            "We will." Gandalf nodded.  Sam looked pleased at a chance to be a guest of the Wood-Elves, having already experienced the hospitality of Rivendell and Lothlorien.  

            Thranduil noticed his expression and, knowing what it meant, laughed. "I hope our accommodations are as comfortable as those at Imladris and Lothlorien."

            Sam smiled in return. "Yes, sir, I'm sure they will be."  When Thranduil turned to talk to Legolas, the Hobbit tugged on Frodo's shirt sleeve.

            "Where's Imladris?" he asked, looking slightly embarrassed.

            "It's Rivendell to you, Sam," Frodo replied with a grin.

            "If you wish, I will have you taken to your rooms now." Thranduil indicated the arched doorway with an elegant hand.

            Aragorn inclined his head. "Please."

            Thranduil nodded to several Elves who came into the room to guide the Company to their rooms.  Legolas, Gimli and Glorfindel lingered behind.

            "You are sure you are well?" Glorfindel asked.

            "As well as I can be, I assure you, Glorfindel," Thranduil replied, with a sharp glance hidden with a smile that told the Elf-Lord that his answer was final and truthful.

            Gimli stepped forward, almost self-consciously.  Thranduil noticed him, and regarded him with a mix of acceptance and age-old suspicion. "Gimli, son of Gloin.  You are named an Elf-friend as a friend of Legolas?"

            Gimli nodded. "Yes, sire."

            "Then I will see that you are accepted here as would a Man or Halfling or Elf be," the King replied.

            "Thank you, sire," Gimli started.  He opened his mouth to continue, but Thranduil held up a hand to silence him.

            "Wait, Gimli," Thranduil lifted a thin gold chain from around his neck.  Several gems of varying colors were strung along it. 

            He held out the chain to the dwarf. "Please accept this as a gift to your father, Gimli.  I hope that it will be a token of the first steps of Mirkwood forming alliances with the dwarves."

            Gimli took the chain with an awkward half-bow. "It will please my father very much to accept this.  When this journey is finished, with your leave, I will return here with some of my kindred and we will make Mirkwood shine with earthly riches so that the shadows will be chased away."

            Thranduil nodded. "Tomorrow we will discuss your return to Mirkwood.  But the night's shadows grow deeper.  Good night, Gimli Elf-friend."

            Gimli turned and left with a silent Elf who led him out of the room.  After the dwarf disappeared from view, Thranduil turned to his son.

            "You will have to tell me exactly how you and he became friends someday," he said.

            "In time," Legolas replied. "That is one of many stories to be told."

            There was a slight pause, and then Legolas asked, "Are you sure that you are well?"

            "Did you not hear me assure Glorfindel that I was better?  Perhaps you should sleep and regain your hearing abilities.  Good night, Legolas," Thranduil said with a trace of laughter in his voice.

            Legolas smiled and left, dismissing the Elf who was there to guide him to his rooms, knowing where he was to stay.

            Glorfindel hovered near Thranduil as the king lowered himself into a chair.  The Elf-lord seemed as if he were about to ask about the king's well-being once again, but shook his head instead.

            "Good night, King Thranduil," Glorfindel said softly as he walked silently from the room.

            Outside, the night's shadows were looming large, pits of black in the trees.  Asfaloth stood in the stables, tossing his head impatiently.  Sensing Glorfindel's approach, he let out a high whinny of welcome.  Glorfindel quietly led the stallion from the stable, drawing on his halter and saddle.  With a lingering look at the palace of Mirkwood, where bright lights shone out of the windows, Glorfindel leaped astride Asfaloth and they sped into the night, a small star gleaming in the shadows of Mirkwood.

THE END

Well, this story is finally finished.  Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this, especially the people who were willing to wait while both this and **The Dark King** were being written.  


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